THE ABSENCE OF SOUL (SOCIETY'S SOUL Book 1)

by Amanda Twigg

  Landra wandered apart from Henderson, even as he still talked, and she made a circular path away from the new guests. She’d been given no files on Templers, so Father couldn’t mean for her to talk to them, but her eyes tracked the new arrivals. They split up and circulated through the crowd.

  Four of them boasted soldier blue auras with dashes of red, but the one bearing a Chief Templer insignia had a swirling crimson Soul with dashes of blue. It swelled out from his form, roaming the crowd as if searching.

  Hide, run.

  She veered away, only to bump into a soldier—Bexter.

  As Landra staggered, she soaked in the sight of the cadet. His rolled shirt sleeves and rough trousers contrasted with his sharp haircut and flawless skin. She didn’t know why the combination aroused her so much or why her passion should flare now. He was beyond reach and the least of her concerns. Her body disagreed, and she used the staggering to cover her weak legs.

  “I’m sorry,” Bexter said, offering a steadying hand. Their palms touched, and the world dimmed.

  Chapter 37

  Only Bexter felt real. Landra’s Soul writhed inside his aura, delighting in the touch points and connections she found there. Fleeting impressions of his compassion and strength enveloped her, and she couldn’t take her eyes from his green eyes and dark features. He met her gaze, and an untimely emotional surge quivered her next breath. Her unwanted promotion, the Templer threat to her freedom, Baylem’s death, and her anger at Dannet all faded in importance. She sensed more and relaxed her aura to admit him into her Soul. Virgin she might be, but that was about to change. Not with a physical joining, but with something more, and in front of everyone. She was bare to his contact.

  “You knew!” her brother’s raised voice intruded, a world of accusation cracking his voice as it had in his teens.

  What?

  Dannet barged her away from Bexter, snapping the contact. The world refocused in stages for Landra, and she wobbled back on her heels. She stared at her brother, taking a long moment to adjust and understand his words. Her breath came fast still, and the lust of her connection took longer to dispel than the vision.

  She focused on Dannet’s bunching fists and recognized his anger.

  “I spoke to Chief Hux,” he said.

  Oh shelk.

  She stepped apart from Bexter, taking a moment to assimilate all that Dannet’s words meant. He’d spoken to Father and knew she was to be chief elect.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” he demanded.

  “What can I say?”

  “An explanation might help, but forget an apology. It’s too late.”

  “I’ve nothing to apologize for.”

  “Really? All this time…”

  Landra couldn’t refute his unfinished accusation. The bite of his anger inflamed her own resentment. “I’m not happy with this, but you failed, Dannet. You left the test.” Her sharp words caught the attention of the closest soldiers.

  “Maybe this should be saved for back at Warrior Hall,” Bexter said. “Your loud voices are causing a stir.”

  “Stay out of this, Bex,” Dannet told him.

  “Leave him alone,” Landra said. “This isn’t his fault.”

  “No, it’s yours.”

  “Not true. I never chose to be ch— I don’t want this. You’re better than me, but I have no choice. You made sure of that.”

  Dannet’s gold eyes flared, and his bared teeth shone beneath the bright party lights. “Not better, Lan. D’you think that’s why I’m angry? You’re strong, focused, talented… You’ll be great. But why didn’t you tell me? How could you leave me to find out like this?”

  Pain tightened her chest, and words wouldn’t come. Her secrecy clawed at the heart of their relationship, raking doubt into what they’d thought was unbreakable.

  Dannet’s arms flailed his distress to the world. He turned with a glare at the staring crowd and stormed away.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home. I’m going home.”

  Landra saw him barge through the partygoers without a care for their shocked stares. She plunged into the crowd after him.

  “Excuse me, sirs,” she said, elbowing her way through. A red-robed figure stepped sideways to block the route, and her anxious gaze lifted. She readied to unleash her frustrations on the stupid man but stopped when his glittering gaze locked on her face.

  “Chief Templer Vellion,” the smooth-cheeked priest said with a gentle bow. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

  Not now.

  She spared a moment to take in his glossy skin, over-sized dark eyes, subtly long hair, and knowing smile. The Templer wasn’t on the list of important people Father expected her to meet, and she’d hoped to avoid the man altogether. Now his aura invaded her space, and power thrummed through her being.

  “I’m busy!” she said, pushing him aside with a sweep of her arm. She darted around the startled man, leaving him tottering.

  Gods of the mist. How furious will you be, Father? What am I thinking?

  In truth, Landra knew exactly what she was thinking. The Chief Templer was a problem for later, along with Father’s Soul-breaking anger, but her confrontation with Dannet was long overdue. She made the exit in time to see her brother weaving through the concourse crowd outside, but the door guard barred her escape.

  “Citizen Hux, are you leaving? Shall I call a security team to escort you home?”

  Think.

  “Yes, please,” she answered, trying to control the tremor in her voice. As the guard turned to his duty roster, she flattened her body to squeeze behind him. His insipid Soul shades buffeted against her solid boundaries, but he never flinched. By the time he turned back, she’d gone.

  Landra ducked between two queuing Warriors and flung their cloaks high to hide her escape. She plunged through the milling crowd, keeping Dannet in her sights. Her brother didn’t have the ranger’s height and bobbing Warrior hair, but the rust-red party suit made him easy to pick out.

  The leisure district party raged in excess, so she willed her brother to stay close and soak his sorrows in scute, but he peeled away from the crowd to turn down a corridor.

  Going home, Dannet? Not to Warrior Hall. Not that way.

  She followed until a soldier staggered back into her shoulder. Spray shot up from the scute tankard in his hand.

  “Outta my way,” he said, spinning around. Once he saw Landra’s athletic body and over-exposed flesh, his eyes sprang open and his face brightened.

  “Oh, sorry, love. Want to party?”

  She shoved him back, her hands sinking into his fleshy belly. “No, and neither should you. That gut needs exercise more than scute.”

  “Charming.” He lurched back. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Chief Hux?”

  “No, and you’re drunk.”

  “Yeah,” he said, with a laugh deep enough to wobble his paunch.

  She heaved him aside and forged a path toward the corridor. A drifting trouser panel caught on a guard’s sword hilt, and it stole another moment to untangle the fabric. “Ow,” she said, as a thick heel dug through her slippers.

  By the time she reached the spot where Dannet had turned into the corridor, he was nowhere in sight.

  “Shelk!”

  A ring of armed security Warriors guarded the concourse exits. Their attentive stares roved the crowd for trouble, so they barely noticed her slipping by into the empty corridors beyond. A faint footfall ahead gave her a clue to Dannet’s direction.

  That’s the way to Hux Hall.

  She dithered, undecided whether to follow or return to the party. This wasn’t a child’s decision to make. The situation forced her to choose what sort of a leader she intended to become. If she went to Hux Hall, there’d be no return to the party and chief elect duties tonight. But Dannet had made her world right more times than she could count. She sucked in a deep breath and went after him.

  Her feet padded silently down the
corridors, and she was grateful for the soft soles on her slippers. She put the evening’s troubles out of her thoughts, and her mood calmed in stages. Dannet’s failure might have doomed her to take on the chief elect duty, but it wasn’t his fault. His drilling in combat techniques was good enough, but he’d never been a true fighter. He preferred building things to whacking them. If Father had told him the significance of taking the Collector during the trial, she was certain he would have found a way to claim his destiny.

  The echoing sound of Dannet’s boots faded, so she checked a wall map to stay on track. At a familiar intersection, she heard hushed voices coming from the narrow corridor, which led to Hux Hall. Her steps slowed when she heard Dannet’s name.

  “Turgeth, you sure that was Dannet Hux?” The voice sounded too clumsy and full of delight to show caution.

  “No mistaking that hair and stupid gold flecks. It’s like shelk gone bad. Huxes wear it like a crown. Was Dannet, for sure.”

  Landra flattened herself against the wall to listen.

  “Snatch him now,” the voice said. “I want to make that shelking son-of-a Hux suffer.”

  She held her breath, certain her pounding heart would burst. A gasp escaped in a noisy puff, and an automatic stretch of her lungs drew in more whistling air. Her senses amplified, turning her breaths into sirens, the voices into shouts, and wooden grain beneath her fingers into canyons. This fear surpassed what she’d felt during her fight with Father. She pressed her back against the wall, pushing the Collector against her spine.

  Attack.

  It was a stupid idea. She and wasn’t sure where it came from, but the idiot Templers were threatening Dannet.

  “Let’s go inside and grab him,” the clumsy voice said.

  “Don’t be stupid, Mendog. We can hardly charge into Hux Hall.”

  “Can too. The guards left with them Hux bastards after the raid. Everyone else is at the party.”

  That’s true. I bet you’re alone, Dannet. Will you guess I followed? Did you lock the door?

  “If we’re caught inside, there’ll be the worm-infested mist to pay,” Turgeth said. “At least out here we can say we’re heading to the Tally Hall. The boss said to leave no trace. Do you really want to face him if we mess this up?”

  “No,” Mendog sulked.

  “Neither do I. Explaining how you let the boy escape will be hard enough.”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Mendog said. “The boss told us to watch him, and I did that good. I watched him run through the corridors and into that door.”

  “That’s your problem, not thinking. No one could have guessed the chief elect would leave his protection detail, especially the day before the announcement ceremony, but you should have adapted.”

  Landra listened in alarm, an array of hideous outcomes running through her head. Would they kill Dannet or snatch him? Worse, what would they do if they took him and realized he wasn’t the chief elect? For all she knew, these were the same Templers responsible for the Hux Hall raid and Baylem’s death. A suppressed ball of grief nearly broke a sob loose, but she held it tight.

  If Thisk were here, he’d know what to do. He’d take his six-foot-three mass of muscle out there and arrest the Templers or pummel them stupid.

  She tried to think her options through. Father would want her to find safety. The treaty came first for him, and there was more at stake here than her brother’s life. Dannet had always been her protector, so he would want her to leave too. I have to run.

  “What do we want the boy for, anyway?” Mendog asked.

  “Not our place to know, but if you ask me, the boss should ransom him back to the chief a piece at a time, all in the name of the temple. Let’s see a treaty working then.”

  Horror tattered the edges of Landra’s aura. She peeled from the wall and turned into the smaller corridor, putting herself in full view of… Oh shelk. Not Templers.

  Chapter 38

  Landra clamped her lips together, caught in panic. Her gaze tracked up the forms of two soldiers. Both topped Thisk’s height by a good three inches.

  Huge.

  Their bulked muscles strained the seams of their uniforms, and broadswords dangled from their grazed fists. Her entrance brought them around, their blades swinging into position. She sucked in a breath, stricken.

  Momentary panic flared in the soldiers’ eyes and nostrils, but as they took in her stature, ridiculous clothes, and lack of weapons, their mouths twisted into amused smirks.

  “Party’s on the leisure concourse, darling,” the thick-spoken soldier said. “Be off!”

  Mendog. Has to be from that voice.

  Her scrutiny took in his pinch-tight uniform, mangled face, and hair insignia, but she couldn’t match his catering specialization mark with his distorted features. No angled nose and drooping eye came from tossing pancakes, but his pale aura disturbed her more. Its ragged edges broke in places, as if improperly formed. He lumbered toward her, his wonky eye glaring from beneath his drooping lid. His lips parted into a snarl of crooked, yellowing teeth.

  “Let me handle this, brother,” Turgeth said, settling an arm across Mendog’s chest. “You lost, girl?”

  Landra’s attention flickered from one soldier to the other. The men resembled each other, but Turgeth was the unspoiled version. His uniform molded around his muscled frame, and his small aura glittered a brighter blue. He had the same long nose, but straighter, and his matching brown eyes shone with a brightness denied to his brother. His calculating stare filled her with more dread than any amount of Mendog’s ogling.

  What the shelk am I doing?

  Landra knew exactly what sort of a leader she wanted to be now, and it didn’t involve sacrificing her brother.

  I stole your future, Dannet. Now, I take your death. She shuddered, determined in her decision, despite her gut-curdling dread.

  Shouldn’t Father have realized the choice she would make? Thisk had warned him; she was nice. The time had come for her to own the title.

  “You have to come to security with me,” she said, tremors putting a squeak in her voice. Shelk.

  “What you talking about, girl? We’re on guard duty.” Turgeth flashed a straight-toothed, evil grin.

  “Can’t you see she’s another Hux?” Mendog asked.

  “Easy, Men. I see.”

  The brothers stared at her short-cropped hair, loathing showing in their differing features. Turgeth rolled his sword hilt over in his fist and settled into a fighting pose.

  “So, you’re not coming with me?” Landra said, humor covering the paralyzing fear in her heart. She’d chosen this, but it didn’t mean she could be brave. Misting shelk, she couldn’t hold her hands steady. “As chief elect, I order you to stand down and report to security.”

  Mendog snorted a laugh.

  “I don’t think so,” Turgeth said, tilting an eyebrow. “D’you think we’re stupid enough to believe you’re anything but a citizen.”

  She’d expected them to doubt her. Hadn’t she doubted herself? But for this to work, she had to make them believe her true rank, or what would stop them from dispatching her and then taking Dannet anyway? She had to make her brother worthless to them.

  Landra reached a trembling hand behind her head. She’d pulled the Collector from her strap before, thoughtless of the consequences. Now, she grabbed it with exact knowledge of what she was doing. The handle felt warm, as if ready for action, and the knife slipped free, a tinging sound echoing out as the blade cleared the sheath.

  “Woah!” Mendog said with a chuckle. “Fight!”

  “The Collector!” Turgeth hissed, an entirely more calculating expression darkening his features.

  Thank the mist. “Yes, it is the Collector, and I am the chief elect.” She pointed the pink blade toward Turgeth and swished it before her body. Her father had used a similar move, but it was a slither of Gallanto’s Soul which urged her to action. She felt his shape now, inside the knife.

  Collector of Souls, indeed.


  How could she have not realized the knife’s nature before? The name should have given it away. More Souls than Gallanto’s rested here, but her great-grandfather pushed them aside to fill Landra’s awareness with his heroic presence.

  “Fight, girl,” he ordered. “Fight for your life.”

  Landra gripped the Collector, her body pumped, and her attention honed to a crystalized point.

  Turgeth’s brows creased together. “My mistake. I believe you now. This one’s for you, brother. Take her down.”

  The misshapen man ambled forward, his overbuilt frame swaying. Landra stabbed the knife forward. Deep purple flashes shot down its blade as Mendog’s heavy sword swung toward her head. She ducked like the scrapper she’d always been and raked the Collector’s blade across his cheek. The big man howled with anger rather than pain. Red dribbles leaked from the thin line that marred his face.

  “Bitch!”

  I’m in for it now. She settled a safe distance away, eyeing the magical rash on the thug’s cheek. Purple lines crawled into his ear and burrowed down one side of his neck. The more he raked at his earlobe, the further the web pattern spread. Its lines stood proud in purple streaks.

  Serves you right.

  Turgeth’s aura flared, warning her to move. His raised sword committed to the path of a downward sweep, so she darted aside and spun into one of Thisk’s high kicks. Her foot shuddered into her attacker’s chin.

  Not just for championship points. Thank you, my friend.

  The big man shook his head, as if freeing himself from the blow. Whether she wasn’t heavy enough, hadn’t landed the kick true, or her slippers had softened the blow, she didn’t know, but Turgeth grinned as if untouched. He seemed to grow as he straightened.

  Gods

  She flashed the knife toward his gut, but he was quicker than Mendog. He shouldered aside her attack and landed a fist in her face. Landra staggered sideways, rocked seven ways from the mist. The pain didn’t register at once, but her ears buzzed and flashes darted across her vision. She shuddered down to one knee, refusing to release the Collector. She couldn’t stand. Couldn’t think. All Turgeth had to do was swing his sword, and it would be over. Dead.